


The Most Perfect Combination (The Four Days of Christmas)

by CassieIngaben



Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: M/M, Minor Character(s), Origin Story, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28362759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassieIngaben/pseuds/CassieIngaben
Summary: What would a team of international thieves actually be like? How four members of the Eroica team joined the business, and where they're coming from.
Relationships: Dorian Red Gloria/James, Dorian Red Gloria/Original Character(s)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 11





	1. Bonham

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TelWoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelWoman/gifts).



> The Four Days of Christmas (It Was Twelve, but James Bargained it Down).
> 
> This is a story in four chapters, which will be posted over the twelve days of Christmas. Each chapter will sketch out one of the key members of Eroica's team: Bonham, Davies, James, Jones. The story takes place just before the first volume of the manga, and it features the nastier and edgier version of the characters we see early in the series. It's not sweetness and light: after all, the winter solstice is the darkest time of the year.

_So far, so good_. The Collector had not lied: the man Bonham was definitely an asset—he was a born organiser, came with impeccable references, had a host of priceless contacts, and was an outstanding cracksman. He'd also proved unflappable so far. Sitting on the sofa of Dorian's London flat, mid-way through their third meeting, Bonham hadn't batted an eyelash when he'd seen Adam—or whatever the man was called—coming out of the bedroom in his birthday suit. _Looks unassuming, says nothing, sees it all_.

Well, even if that had turned out to be an excellent test of Bonham's discretion and open-mindedness, it wasn't quite meant to happen: Dorian made a mental note that he should start being more discerning about whom he took home for the night, now that he was expanding his business.

And now, time to show Bonham the Castle. Smiling to himself, Dorian stopped the car and got out, followed by the other man, who was impressed but affected nonchalance. _Hard to read, but not impossibly so. Good._ As they went up the entrance steps, Dorian noted with amusement how Bonham was unobtrusively scrutinising the castle's access point. Well, not that there was anything worth the bother—and the Collector had said that Bonham's loyalties, once engaged, were solid—yet it wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on him for a while. Gordon bowed as they walked through to the library, a slight frown of disapproval at Bonham's appearance. Which was unfortunate indeed, albeit amply offset by the overall benefits of having such a high calibre second in command. _Needs must, even over aesthetics_.

Once there, they made relatively quick work of plan A for the Leighton Gallery, finishing up just in time for a quick drink before dinner. _No discussion of plan B while he's still on probation_. Dorian was handing Bonham his whisky when the parlour door flew open to let a flustered, be-coated James in _. Oh, for God's sake, what he's up to now?_

"Milord, I went for a walk in the park and I'm sure I saw a large animal, we're not safe, we need—"

The feverish tumble of words stopped abruptly as James took in Bonham's portly form sitting in his armchair. James stared, and dropped his knitted hat. Bonham looked at the heap of blue wool on the floor, then his gaze slowly swept up until he met James's eyes, calmly taking in the hostility emanating from them.

Dorian sighed under his breath. "Jamesie, darling. Meet Bonham. He's to work for me—for us—organising projects and all that. Bonham, this is James, our accountant." _Please disregard he is regrettable._

Bonham said nothing, but got up with a bland professional smile and held out his hand. James studied the proffered hand, and after some hesitation he extended his, wincing slightly at the strength of Bonham's shake.

"Splendid! I'm sure you'll make great friends!" _Or so I hope, for my peace of mind, and for the sake of the work. "_ Poor James was pining, all alone here, while I'm so busy in London."

Dorian came to stand behind James. He put his hands on James's shoulders and kissed the side of his neck, lips lingering over a faint bite mark, savouring the shiver passing through the other man, then he made a quick ‘silence' sign at Bonham, who nodded almost imperceptibly. _Excellent. James doesn't need to know about my recreational activities in London_.

He pushed James towards the green sofa. "Do sit down, Jamesie, we were just having a drink before dinner."

Dorian stepped back. James turned his head and tracked him with his eyes, flickers of doubt, jealousy and resentment fighting with the wistful, desolate expression twisting his mouth. Then he lowered his gaze, struggled to remove his coat and pick up his hat at the same time. Eventually, he perched tensely on the sofa, clutching his outer garments in his lap. Bonham said nothing, still appraising James, who stared back at him with growing venom, when his eyes were not darting to several other points in the room, as if he could spot sudden movement. Dorian looked on, considering. _This is beyond irritating. James keeps doing that eye-swivelling thing of his, and of course Bonham's picked up on it; he's perceptive like that. Good, yes, but potentially risky, too. Needs keeping in mind_. He shrugged inwardly, then he went to get them drinks.

A tense, awkward silence fell while Dorian moved to the bar at the far end of the room, stretching the pause out as much as possible, watching the silent dynamics play out. _Which one do I keep, if they can't work together?_ Eventually he walked back with the drinks.

"Here's your water, James. Bonham, more whisky?"

The man shook his head and gave Dorian an intent look. "Keeping a clear head."

James snapped to attention, and stared at Bonham as if mesmerised. Dorian returned Bonham's gaze, smiled innocently and oh-so-casually poured tonic water into the empty glass intended for Bonham's drink, setting aside the one with the gin in it. _Too perceptive indeed. Damn. But he's right; time to lay off the drink, and put work first._

"And now, a toast; to welcome our new associate!" Dorian raised his glass, soda bubbles sparkling in the late afternoon sun. He barely touched the glass to his lips, and put it down _._ "I'm looking forward to dinner. I should go check things out with Gordon. Please wait here, dears. Won't be a minute." T _ime to disappear and let them figure out how to play together nicely_.

* * *

He didn't care that Dorian was obviously making himself scarce to test them. No sooner had he left the room that James pounced.

"What are you doing here? He's mine." James could hear the shrillness in his voice. He didn't care. His rage felt like a cold sheet wrapped around his heart.

Bonham raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm straight, mate. And anyway, I'm here to work, not to play."

"How do I know that? How do I know what you're really here for?" _If he's a spy I'll kill him._

"You ask the Boss. I handle operations and you handle the money. We're colleagues."

 _Colleagues! How can Dorian trust this, this, upstart—_ The flickering shapes dancing around James's eyes went crimson, and he moved forward, baring his teeth.

As if out of nowhere, Dorian stepped in front of him. "James! Enough. Bonham is with us. We need him. I trust him, and so should you."

James sat back, deflated. He felt his eyes fill up, and his hands started to shake. The noise in his head grew to painful levels. _Why do we need him? It was just the two of us._

"I'm sure he doesn't mean it, Boss. He's just being prudent."

_Stop calling him Boss. He's Lord Gloria to you! And I'm not stupid, you're just trying to appease me._

Dorian looked seraphic. "Indeed. As he should be."

James paled. He could see Bonham and Dorian speaking, but he could not hear anything—there was a terrible hiss between his ears, and it was very cold in the room. _I'll be good. Don't send me away. If you send me away I'll die._ He stood up, and bowed formally.

"I apologise. I just wanted to, to— I care. About the business. I do."

Dorian clapped his hands together, and rose in turn. "Splendid! We are all on the same page, then. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes."

James lowered his head. _I would die for you. Gladly._

Bonham also stood up, and looked at James with a strange expression in his eyes. Wary, but somehow almost—sorry? James looked up and his eyes met Bonham's. _If I have to kill you I won't be kind nor sorry._

* * *

James's shoulders turned visibly tense, but he otherwise showed no reaction to Bonham's approach, and kept scribbling and shuffling papers and ledgers around. Bonham circled the desk and sat down, two cups of tea in hand. He put one in front of James.

"Morning" he sing-songed. _Things I do for work. Had to suffer this lunatic through dinner, and now first thing in the morning._

James mumbled something approximating 'rning' between clenched teeth, then he caught himself, took a deep breath and exhaled a sentence.

"Good morning, Mister Bonham. I hope you slept well?"

"Just Bonham, mate. How's the Boss?"

"If you mean Lord Gloria, he's still asleep."

 _Oh, we're extra prissy in the morning_. "But you aren't."

"Work to do. The legit part also needs taking care of."

 _I bet it does. Balancing a credible double book-keeping on this scale has to be a real piece of work._ "What are you working on?"

"Nothing you need to worry about." James was sounding more spiteful by the minute.

 _Enough. Time to get to the point_. Bonham straightened in his chair and looked at James directly in the eye. "Right, I get it. You don't like me. But we have to work together, so I need to know more about your set-up."

"I don't dislike you." James's voice was frosty.

"You have a strange way of showing it." _You are strange. You must be really good indeed, for the Boss to keep you around. But if it's only in bed you're good for, I'm out of here. I'm not going to stick around a Boss who thinks with his dick, and an accountant who is a dick._

James got up, gestured at the debris on the desk, and moved to the morning room side window. "Fine. Suit yourself. Take a good look. Call me when you don't understand it."

Bonham sighed, pulled a ledger towards him, and started to read.

The dull thud of something hitting the window at full speed startled Bonham out of his perusal. He turned towards the window, taking in the way James was looking at the twitching form of a small brown bird on the ground. James stood perfectly still, staring at the bird until it began to flap and jerk around, and eventually to drunkenly fly away, seemingly recovered. He then turned slowly, his eyes cold.

"They do it all the time. Fly into the window. Pick themselves up. Fly into the same window again. They never seem to learn about glass panes."

 _My God._ "You were right. I don't understand most of what you do. But I understand enough to see why the Boss—Lord Gloria—keeps you around." _I've never seen anything on this level. He's a genius. This pathetic, malevolent, miserable excuse for a man is a fucking money genius. His accounting is a work of art, a thing of beauty._

James's feral expression morphed into puzzlement. "You don't dislike me."

"That's not the point. I had to know if I was willing to work with you. And it turns out that I am." _More than that. You give me the creeps, but I'm beginning to think I'm gonna like this job._

Before James could reply, Dorian sauntered in, cup of tea in hand, and drawled. "Oh, good. Having a business meeting already. I'm delighted. At both of you." He dropped the affectation, and smiled coldly. "Don't make me change my mind."


	2. Davies

Gordon ushered in a tall, thin man in his early thirties, brown hair framing a long narrow face, handsome in a vaguely vulpine way. Bonham stood up and they shook hands, then he gestured for the man to take a seat.

_Well, I hope this bloke measures up—if he doesn't, I may as well give up on having our own appraiser. I've barely managed to persuade James we need one, so even if he signed it off on the budget, he'll pounce on anything that proves we don't need the man after all, and I can kiss my specialist goodbye. Unless I override James and go directly to the Boss, but the consequences of that are not something I'm keen on._

"So, Mr Davies. I see you come highly recommended. The Amsterdam cartel, no less. Maybe we can talk about how you worked with Jansen and Visser? I'm sure we can both balance discretion and detail."

Davies nodded, and began talking about his previous achievements. Midway through the interview, the door unexpectedly opened; James walked in and sat on the nearest armchair. He crossed his arms in front of him, nodded to no-one in particular and said: "I want to see who we might get." ~~~~

Bonham gritted his teeth and carried on. _He couldn't be more unpleasant if he tried. Still smarting over the budget. Resentful twerp. If he scares Davies off, I don't have any others lined up for the job just now, and that will make James's day. On the other hand, if Davies lets himself be intimidated, it may be best not to have him on, in the long run._

However, the man's reaction looked more like instant dislike than cowering. "I'm Davies. Pleased to meet you, Mr...?"

James stared at him, silent and unsmiling. Davies stared back.

"James is our accountant," Bonham eventually intervened. Davies arched an eyebrow and sniffed.

 _Uhm. Spunk during an interview. Bad thing or good thing?_ Bonham cleared his throat. "Well, where were we?"

Davies continued as if there'd been no interruption. Bonham asked a few more questions and then drew the interview to a close. The man clearly knew his job, so it boiled down to personality. Before Bonham could utter the ritual ‘we'll call you' James stood up and abruptly left the room. 

* * *

James looked out of the window as Dorian hopped out of his red Lamborghini and sauntered towards the Castle's main entrance, stopping briefly to look at the newly-restored façade, a dreamy smile on his upturned face. James bit his lips. _London again. And not for business, no matter what he says. Not that he bothers to say it, most of the time. He thinks I'm stupid. Or maybe he just doesn't care._ Bitterness filled his mouth. He threw Dorian a last glance, then retreated towards his desk to avoid being caught spying—and almost collided with Davies.

James jumped, and then snapped: "What?"

Davies smirked. "Sorry I scared you. But I guess your mind was elsewhere? In London, maybe."

James went very still for a few moments, then he sniffed and straightened his clothes. "Do you actually have anything to say or do, Mr Davies?"

"Just passing by."

"Then pass by somewhere else, if you don't mind?"

Davies's rejoinder was cut off by Dorian walking in.

"Hello, Jamesie. Davies." Dorian smiled widely, voice and body language mellow. "Davies, be a dear. I need to talk to James."

Bowing obsequiosly, Davies went for the door.

"Ah, Davies?" Dorian drawled.

"Yes, Milord?"

"I think you owe James an apology, for giving him a fright. It's never a good idea to sneak up to people unawares, don't you think?"

Davies swallowed, then bowed his head. "Yes Milord—I mean, no Milord. I'll be more careful."

"Please do."

Gritting his teeth, Davies looked at a point just to the left of James's head and spat out: "My apologies, Mr James." Then he left.

* * *

Walters walked into the second drawing room, and threw himself on the nearest armchair. "The Shrimp's been foul. Not getting any, and knowing the Boss is bedding half of London."

Davies shrugged, leaning against the fireplace. "What do you expect from—you know. It's all about sex and drama with their kind."

Walters eyed Davies warily, clearly undecided whether to let the slur pass.

Taylor chimed in from the other armchair. "The Shrimp sent my expenses back twice, because 'the figures weren't written clearly enough.' When I typed them, the third time, he said the typewriter ribbon was no good and rejected my claim. Wrote 'three strokes you're out' on the expense slip, then tore it in three pieces right in front of me. I was ready to carve the amount on his forehead with a knife."

"That would have been fun to watch." Davies laughed, then sobered up abruptly. "We can't touch him, but he wouldn't think twice about doing us in. He'd be perfectly capable of slitting our throats in our sleep."

"Please. You're being melodramatic. If he wanted to murder us he could do it much more effectively by poisoning the food." 

Davies considered. "True. Slow and devious is more his style."

Walters sighed, got up and went for the side table with the coffee pot: "The Boss will be back and we'll get some quiet. Which is a mixed blessing, actually. I'm looking forward to the next project. I'm getting antsy with doing nothing."

"The Boss likes to plan things carefully. And Bonham is even worse. A drag." Davies chuckled to himself. "Pun intended."

Taylor got up and also went for the coffee, throwing Davies a disapproving glance. "Careful, Davies." He paused for a second. "It's good to be careful. I really don't fancy prison."

Walters raised his coffee cup in a toast. "Hear, hear. Prison's still marginally worse than having to deal with downtime and the Shrimp. And, Taylor? A word of advice. Only file your expenses when the Shrimp's well-fucked."

"And how would I know that?"

Davies wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Hard to miss."

* * *

"You shouldn't feed bread to fish, it will make them explode."

Without looking up from his crouch, James let go of the handful of crumbs he was holding over the water. "I wasn't feeding them."

Bonham looked at him skeptically. "You weren't?"

"They're edible." James raised the fishing spear he was holding in his other hand. It looked battered and bent, and had left rust stains all over James's hands.

"They're not. The water's stagnant. Ever heard of bacteria?"

James lowered his fishing spear, and contemplated the green film of half-frozen slime covering most of the pond's surface. "I never saw a fish explode."

Bonham sighed and sat on one of the rocks scattered on the grass, rubbing his hands together to warm them in the cold winter air. "They don't literally explode. They just get all bloated and die."

James set the fishing spear down and tried to clean his hands by rubbing them against the damp grass. It didn't work particularly well. Looking at the reddish goo on his hands, he muttered: "Is this about the budget again?"

"We already had that conversation. For all the good it did."

James shrugged, and kept working at getting his hands clean.

"Here. Use this." Bonham took out a checkered handkerchief and held it out to James, who considered it for a moment, then snatched it and put it to use.

After a minute or two, Bonham spoke again. "Davies said you've threatened him. Is that true?"

James set the stained handkerchief on the grass and started to meticulously re-fold it along its original creases. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Look, mate, I'm not enjoying this. If I wanted to work in a kindergarten I'd have done so."

James glanced up from his task and said nothing.

"You know what the Boss thinks of dissent in the ranks. Care to tell him how the two of you haven't been able to stand each other from day one?"

"Don't you dare, Bonham! Or I'll—" 

Bonham smiled mildly. "Or you'll do what?"

James stood up and stared at him in silence. Holding his gaze, Bonham stood up too. "James. Has it ever crossed your mind that you might be better off if you didn't spend half of your time being an arse?"

"Davies doesn't like Lord Gloria. Nor me. Us."

Bonham went still. "What are you trying to say?"

"You know."

Bonham picked up his handkerchief, and looked away at the pond's surface ruffling and rippling under the icy, damp breeze. Then he sighed, shoved the handkerchief into his pockets and looked at James again. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Who'd believe me? Everybody's after me because they think I'm paranoid."

"The Boss would."

James looked down at his shoes and said nothing.

Bonham moved slightly closer, voice pitched low, almost gentle. "Why don't you want him to know?"

James shrugged and walked away towards the Castle. _Dorian doesn't care what people say or think._


	3. James

Dorian looked in through the morning room door as James put down his pen, stretched the kinks in his back, and reached for his cup of tea. He got up and went to the window, sipping his tea and staring at the east lawn. It had just stopped snowing, and the pristine surface reflected the bright morning light as if strewn with shards from a shattered mirror.

_He's so quiet when he's busy with his ledgers; and then he just short-circuits with no rhyme or reason. Well, today he's going to short-circuit for a reason. God give me strength—make me remember I owe him a treat._

Just as James turned to go back to his desk, Dorian walked in, holding up James's coat. "Jamesie? I'd like you to come with me. Here's your coat, darling."

James startled, then he put his cup on his desk, and reached for his coat. Instead of passing it to him, Dorian held it up for James to wiggle into. James floundered in surprise, then went pink and smiled. "Thank you, Milord."

With a little manouvering, Dorian got James all bundled up; he briefly surveyed his handiwork, gestured for James to precede him to the door, then he followed, fur-trimmed coat sweeping grandly behind him.

James turned around, not breaking from his trot, one eye peeping through layers of wool: "Where are we going?"

Dorian winked. "It's a surprise. You'll see."

Soon, Dorian was driving through the castle gate and into meandering country lanes, James visibly failing to contain his nervous excitement at the car's speed. _I'll have to teach him how to drive. No, have Bonham do it. I doubt I could cope._

As they made their final turn, James's breath caught and he held his nose against the car window, pointing at the road sign. "We're going to Redhill?"

"Indeed. The old village's so quaint when it snows, and I haven't been there in a long time. I thought we'd take a walk, then have lunch at The Mill House. I'll show you the Elizabethan carvings in the church. They were part of Benedict Red's loot, graciously donated to the villagers to keep them on his side throughout the Reformation. With mixed results."

James turned towards him, eyes wide. "You're taking me to visit Redhill."

"Yes. A birthday outing. Did you think I'd forgotten it's your birthday today? Twenty-one. Your majority." Dorian spared a glance at James's face, smiling at what he saw.

It turned out that the price for seeing the carvings was to be stuck talking to the vicar for longer than it was comfortable; the old man alternated reminiscing about child Dorian's shenanigans, and hinting at what he thought of adult Dorian's. _Bigot. Always sucking up to Mother. Snitching on me to her._

Eventually, they made their way through narrow stone-paved streets, still decked in Christmas lights.

"They never take them down exactly on Twelfth Night, but then who does? And so you get to enjoy them for your birthday."

James nodded, eyes darting from the street decorations to the people crossing them, some sketching a bow at Dorian while ignoring James pointedly, some pointedly ignoring both of them, and some just staring. Dorian blithely ignored them all, long-inured to his notoriety in the village, and looked at the way James writhed under the onslaught. _Why do people care so much about what other people think?_

Eventually, they got to the little restaurant Dorian favoured when in the village. The owner bustled around in welcome, sitting them down near the huge fireplace. James picked up the menu warily, but Dorian plucked it from him. "I've ordered in advance. Treat, remember?"

Dorian picked through his food, aware of the banana and cinnamon cake waiting for them, and looked idly around the half-full restaurant, shuddering with distaste at the stuffed deer heads hanging from the wall. _Excellent food, no hassle, faux Ye Merry England interior. You can't have everything._ Averting his gaze from the feral décor, Dorian checked James's progress. _Well, at least you can always tell when he likes the food._

When the cake came, candles and all, James was so overwhelmed that Dorian managed to cajole him into drinking a large sherry. James drained the glass; he sputtered and grimaced, then his face flushed and he giggled. Dorian draped his napkin on the table. "Well, now. We better go before it grows dark. There's a final stop we need to make."

They walked back to the main street, James buzzing with sherry and anticipation. Dorian stopped in front of a bank, and waved at the façade with a flourish. "After you."

James looked alarmed, and Dorian laughed: "Don't worry, I wasn't thinking of robbing a bank in full daylight! We're not doing anything illegal. Quite the contrary, in fact. This is all very staid and respectable. Gloria business."

They walked in; Dorian briefly spoke with the bank manager, and they were shown down a flight of stairs into the bank's vaults. A security guard let them through using a mix of badges, passcodes and old-fashioned keys. Finally they were in front of a steel grate, which the guard opened by turning a large metal wheel. Dorian ushered a goggle-eyed James into the safety boxes' room, then went to one of the many squarish metal doors covering the walls on all sides. James looked like he was ready to pass out with awe. _Hope you like your present. It was such a hassle to rent a safety box just to show you what a bank vault looks like._ Dorian took out a long flat key, and nodded at the guard, who also had produced an identical one. Together, they each put their key in two adjacent locks, and turned it at the same time. With a click, the door to the safety box opened. James made a strangled, high-pitched noise. The guard smiled and left them, telling them to call when they'd finished.

Dorian waited until the man had retreated, unfolded James's scarf from around his neck, and blindfolded him with it. Dorian then stood behind him, murmured into his ear "birthday surprise" and pushed him towards the safety box. James stumbled blindly forward, breathing hard with surprise, until his fingers met hard polished wood and cold glass. James's breath hitched, half-way between excitement and anxiety.

"A box? No, a case?"

"Open it. See if you can guess what it is."

Fumbling, James found the case's clasp, lifted the lid and felt inside with a cautious hand. He jumped, barely stifling a thin cry, then he clawed with both hands for the objects in the box.

Dorian took the blindfold off and held James by the shoulders. "Benedict Red's coin collection. Apparently, being a pirate doesn't preclude having a slightly nerdy hobby—no offense meant to numismatics."

James turned around, uncomprehending.

"It's yours now. Happy birthday."

Dorian oof-ed as James threw himself at him and held on, trembling. Dorian pulled out a large handkerchief—he'd come prepared—and mopped James's face with it.

It turned out that Dorian should have come more prepared than that—James cried all the way home, clutching the coin case and hiccuping from sherry and emotion. _My good deed of the day is done. And he's been sweet, overall—apart from the tears. I should get him drunk more often._

* * *

James slipped a sheet of paper in front of Dorian. "This is what it comes to. If we take all the paintings."

Across the table, Bonham made a dubious face. "It's a lot to carry in one go. And we'll have to cut them off their frames, there's no time to dismount them properly."

"Absolutely not! Even if they're hideous splotches. I'd rather take them frame and all than butcher them." Dorian huffed at Bonham's expression. "Fine. I know it's impossible. But we could go in with more people."

"We don't have that many specialists on our books, we'll need more—" Bonham started to object, but James cut him off.

"How can we trust them? And it would be expensive, so there's no point in taking more paintings if we have to add extra resources."

Bonham sighed, and gave up on finishing his sentence. _I thought we'd had this discussion already._

"They are a set. I'm not separating them."

James looked conflicted. "I know it's better to take them all, the price goes up considerably if we resell them as a set—but it's expensive."

Bonham started to leaf through a thick address book. "If we do this, we'll have to move the date back, I need time to find the right people. We're looking for quite a range of skills."

Dorian twiddled a pencil between his fingers. "Can you do it before the paintings go back to the New York Guggenheim?"

Bonham shrugged. "Dunno. I'll need to talk to quite a lot of people. I don't want to call in too many favours, it's unwise in the long run, so I'll have to negotiate fees. I need to know how much I can spend."

James made a face as if he'd bitten into a lemon. "I have to go back and re-do the costing. The cash flow is not as good as I'd like it to be, too many expenditures." James looked pointedly at Dorian, who pointedly ignored him.

Silence fell around the table, as they mulled over the problem. Then James looked tentatively at the two other men. "I can come with you. One less person to hire."

Dorian and Bonham directed twin glares at him.

"How difficult can it be to take a painting off its frame?"

Dorian closed his eyes and rubbed his hand across his forehead. "James—" He started, then shook his head and sat back in his chair.

James took a deep breath and then spoke very fast, reedy voice pitched unpleasantly close to a whine. "You don't want to take me with you for the heist; you don't want to take me with you even for reconnaissance or stakeouts. All I do is sit in a corner and jump to attention any time someone wants to spend money! I get cramp from writing cheques."

"You get cramp from counting the money as it flows in!"

Bonham raised his hands. "Gentlemen. Please. We're working." _I hate it when they get all catty on the job. I never know if it's professional disagreement or something they're dragging in here from the bedroom. Some sort of game they play, except no-one seems to know the rules, themselves included._

Dorian pursed his lips, reached for his newly-acquired cloisonné Ivanov teaset, and poured himself a fresh cup.

James looked at the teacup with venom, then straightened in his chair, took hold of two thick manilla folders and briskly handed one to Dorian and one to Bonham.

"This it the full version of the original costing, based on your specifications. It will save time if you annotate your changes here and give it back to me. Bonham, I'll need a ballpark figure for the new hires, based on average fees. Gross numbers, please." He hesitated, then shuffled his papers around, pulled out what looked like a letter, and passed it to Dorian.

Automatically, Dorian opened it and started to leaf through its content, only to stop and do a double take. "What's this? A CV?"

"You need to read the covering letter first. It's an application. I'm applying to be part of your team when you go on a heist."

Dorian put the documents down and stared. "You had all this prepared."

"I had to. You keep saying no, then we fight, and nothing happens. I wanted to explain properly. Put my case forward."

Bonham filched the papers and started to read. _This is half-impressive, half-pathetic. 'Amenable to being a human shield as needed' — 'able to go without food for several days in a hostage situation' — 'willing to dig graves or in general help hide dead bodies.'_

Dorian looked at James, who didn't flinch or look sideways, the cast of his mouth obstinate and unhappy.

"Fine. On your head be it. Bonham, include James's application in your list. Go through the usual selection and vetting process. No special treatment." He turned back to James, who was breathing shallowly. "If you don't make the selection, I don't want to hear a word about this ever again."

James nodded, tried to say something and failed. He got up, bowed and then stood there as if rooted to the spot. Dorian scrutinised him, eyes narrowed into slits. Neither of them moved for what seemed to Bonham a very long time. _I don't like this. But I guess it's better than having to listen to their sniping. James is like a terrier, won't let go until people give in out of exasperation and fatigue. Different strategy from the Boss's but somehow equally ruthless. Well, I'm off, and they can have it out properly._

Bonham stood up and clapped his hands once in blatantly fake cheer. "Right. I think we're sorted. We're going for the whole set; I'm in charge of procuring appropriate resources; James will work on the revised costing based on our input. We'll reconvene once I have a short list of candidates, by which time we should have the new costing, so we can go over the short list, and agree on what we can offer them."

* * *

The door to Dorian's room had barely closed when he grabbed James's left shoulder and whirled him around. "What was that all about?"

"I told you. I want to take part in the heists."

"Why?"

James pursed his lips and looked down at the floor between them. "I want to help."

"You'd just be in the way. Oh, for the love of God, don't look so hurt—and don't you even try tears, you know it won't work."

James swallowed a few times, attempting to clear his voice: "I'm not— I won't be in the way. I want to be with you—"

"You're with me on a daily basis."

"Not like that. Not just like that."

Dorian shook his head slowly. "I don't know what to do with you, sometimes. I don't know what else you want."

"I want to help—" _You. I want you. All of you._

Dorian sounded weary. "I know that. Come here. I don't like to fight. Let's make up?"

James stepped forward and nodded. _Not true. You like to fight. You like to hurt. To hurt me_. _I should care, but I don't. I like it. I never thought I'd like it. But I do._

Dorian pushed James against the wall, crushing them both together with his full body weight. "You're hard."

"So are you." James exhaled.

"Yes. Want to do something about it?"

James's hands forcibly wedged themselves between their bodies and started to undo their belts and flies, a sense of urgency taking over. Dorian hurriedly pulled down both their trousers, just enough to free their cocks, and slammed James against the wall with his hips, again and again, unheeding of James's hands clawing at him, James's breath swooshing out and his head hitting the wall with each rough thrust. After the first few impacts, James started to see stars. _It hurts. Yes. Yes. More._

Dorian grasped James's arms harder and harder, until he felt his bones creak. Dorian started to bite him where shoulder met neck, whispering between bites: "You like it like this, don't you? — 'If captured, won't break under pressure'— did you write that to make me do this to you?"

_Yes. Break me. Hurt me. Hurt me until I go soft from the pain. Like now. I like it. You like it. Feel my hurt. Feel me go soft._

Dorian bit James harder, taut flesh yielding under strong teeth, then he looked up, panting: "What's wrong?"

James shook his head, then gestured towards the bed. "Make me hard again. You know how."

Dorian wiped blood and saliva from James's neck, grabbed him by the hair and threw him flat on his back on the bed. "Tell me how. Tell me."

James pushed down his trousers and kicked them out of the way, together with his underwear, shoes and socks, then spread his legs and hooked his forearms behind his knees to force his thighs open. "Like this. Break me."

*

Dorian looked at James, flat on his back, fast asleep. _He looks like a rag doll when he's asleep, after we've been rough_. _He likes it so much._ _And so do I. Make up sex is fantastic._ _He's so hot. And the way I feel now—_ He shook his head as if to clear it. _I don't understand any of this. Where it's coming from. Why does he make me so angry? Am I really so angry?_

_* * *_

James lifted a small copper coin in front of him, and contemplated it. The coin glistened in the warm light of the fireplace. James nodded once, gave the coin a final polish and placed it carefully in its antique glass display case. He hummed a few bars of what sounded like an off-key lullaby, and picked up another coin. He dipped it in water from a crystal jar, and started cleaning it delicately with a soft suede cloth, a slight, almost-tender smile on his lips. The lock of hair curtaining his face glowed with treacle-warm highlights against the firelight. Sitting sideways on a pillow, he looked uncharacteristically relaxed, snug in his knitted waistcoat and shirt-sleeves, the waistcoat's horrible pattern and colours somewhat gentled by the warm light.

Sitting near the window at the far end of the library, Bonham looked up from over his newspaper. _Kinder with things than with people. Well, money-related things. He doesn't care much about the rest. That waistcoat must have been knitted by some charity lady with more time and leftover yarn than taste. I bet she also knitted that terrible scarf and hat he always wears. Probably there's some interesting story behind it. Not that we'll ever know, he's very buttoned up about his past. Well, he's very buttoned up, period. I am surprised he took off his jacket and tie, I've never seen him do it before. Happiness looks so strange on him._

Walters and Taylor came in, carrying folders and cups of tea, and joined Bonham near the window. James glanced up from the other end of the room and went back to his coins, more than happy to ignore and be ignored. Bonham folded his newspaper, took the documents and began to read them. The two newcomers looked around the library idly. Walters nudged Taylor, and whispered: "The Shrimp looks almost human today. You can tell he got some."

Taylor shook his head slowly: "I'll never understand what the Boss sees in him."

Walters leered. "Apart from the obvious?"

"Come on, have you seen him?"

"Appearances can be deceiving."

"Still. Think of the Boss's usual posh fare, and then look at him."

Walters shrugged. "The Boss likes variety?"

"That he does."

Bonham put down the document he was holding and intervened. "Stop gossiping."

Walters huffed: "Come on, Bonham. He can't hear us from here."

"That's not the point. We're a team. You should be professional about your colleagues. Especially the one who handles your paycheques."

"We're not saying anything that people haven't thought or said already." Walters protested.

Bonham enunciated slowly. "All the more reason to drop it. Before the Boss gets wind of it."

"Lay off, Walters—Bonham's got a point here. I like being paid. And I really don't want the Boss to find out about the scuttlebutt."

Bonham looked at them intently. _I'm quite sure the Boss knows all the scuttlebutt there is to know, or most of it. Doesn't mean he'd like it—especially since those two idiots are right._

Pointing a finger to the sheaf of paper he was holding, Bonham said: "Ok. Page 19. Explain."

Walters looked at Taylor, who launched in his version of an explanation. After a few minutes, Bonham raised his hand and started asking questions. Walters joined in, and the discussion turned into an impromptu meeting. Time and again, Bonham looked up at the fireplace, contemplating James's quiet, contented happinesss.

* * *

James jolted awake, heart thudding madly, drenched in sweat. That dream again. No, not a dream: a memory.

_Mr Cooper had told the class about Mother's day. How one must be grateful and thank their mothers for all they did for you. Then he'd stopped his pacing and addressed him: 'You too, James. You need to be more generous. Even if Mrs Lindsay is not your real mother, she deserves a little reward for fostering you.' James had nodded, and then he'd tried his best not to think about what would happen during break time. He'd put all his attention into Mr Cooper's demonstration: first fold the paper into two, then draw the outline of a puppy dog on the outer leaf, and finally colour it with Artmix. James had dipped his brush in the half-filled water glass the teacher had put on his desk, and then tried to mix the colours in the little plate to get the right shade. He'd decided on a golden-beige, like the Andrex puppy; but the mix hadn't worked very well and now, several coats later, the paper had become very soggy and his puppy was a sort of dirty dark yellow, the paint lumpy and uneven. He'd looked at the paper, and bit his lips. Next to him, Wilson had pointed at James's work and crowed loudly: "James drew a sheep made of sick!"_

_As he'd anticipated, break time had been very bad, and so had home time. He'd limped to the Lindsays' house as fast as he could, managed to slip past Mrs Lindsay and go straight into the bathroom, where he'd poured surgical spirit on his knee until the blood had stopped. Then he'd hidden his shoes and socks under his bed, because he'd been unable to wash the blood off them very well. He'd sat on his bed with the Maths book he'd bargained from the sixth formers in exchange for a month of lunch money, and he'd worked on it until teatime._

_Tea had been the usual silent affair, and James had started to think he'd passed muster, when Mrs Lindsay'd noticed he was favouring his right leg. She'd taken him by his arm and looked properly at his knee, which to be fair hadn't looked very good. She'd got very angry and shouted at him, so he'd started to cry; at which point, she'd slapped him and said 'Now you've got a proper reason to cry, you're always crying like the sissy you are' and then she'd clamped her hand over his mouth until he could hardly breathe._

_He'd tried hard not to pay attention to what was happening, and think of the sixth formers' Maths book instead. Once he'd been allowed to go to his room, he'd sat on his bed and waited until his hands had stopped trembling; then he'd taken out his satchel from under the bed. He'd rummaged until he'd found the card with the puppy. It wasn't very crumpled, and it had barely smudged. Maybe he could give Mrs Lindsay the card, so she wouldn't be angry anymore. Mr Cooper had said he needed to be generous. Which was never easy. James had waited until Mrs Lindsay'd finished in the kitchen and joined Mr Lindsay in front of the telly, then he'd crept down the stairs, his knee only slowing him down a little. He'd been on the seventh step when he'd realised that the Lindsays were talking about him; their tone'd made him stop and silently sit on the step to listen._

_"…he's just not worth the money, Patrick. He's not normal. He always ends up in some sort of trouble. His teachers are at the end of their tether. He's driving me crazy, and all for the pittance the Council pays us. I just can't take it anymore. I'm calling social services tomorrow and they can have him back."_

_James didn't hear what Mr Lindsay replied, and didn't remember how he got back into his room. But he remembered clearly how the card had tasted as he'd torn the paper into tiny little sick-coloured confetti and eaten them all one at a time._

_* * *_

The door to the morning room opened slowly and James hobbled in, trying to look dignified despite his bandages. The early morning light made the nasty cuts and bruises on his face look deeper and uglier. He perched on his favourite chair, hissing under his breath as he vainly tried to find a more comfortable position. Bonham followed him through the door, pretending not to notice the pain James must be in. James affected his usual prissy aplomb, and his clothes, though threadbare, were as neat and proper as usual. Only his hair and face looked less than perfectly groomed where he must have been unable to reach.

_I'd never seen him other than perfectly shaven. The stubble makes him look older. That, and having his face beaten in with a steel boot by a posse of security guards. His face and pretty much everything else._ Bonham shuddered and winced at the memory _._

James sat up, straightened his back and started writing slowly and laboriously with his non-dominant hand. He stood on his dignity ferociously, his face an expressionless mask of concentration.

_Poor bugger. Acting as if nothing had happened. I never saw anybody draw so much strength out of sheer desperation._

Before they could exchange a world Gordon knocked and ushered in a dark-haired woman in a simple but elegant white dress. Bonham half-stood half-bowed, while James was obviously in no condition to move, had he been inclined to do so. She raised one eyebrow at James's appearance, and then went matter-of-factly to the side table, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

"Early risers, at last. I was starting to think everyone had been stung by a spindle."

Bonham ignored the jibe. She wasn't wrong after all. "Miss Uhng."

"It's Ms. Ms An Uhng to you. I'm here for business, not friendship."

Bonham nodded, and sat back. _Utter bitch. I like her._

Uhng fetched her coffee and sat, her dress riding up as she crossed her legs. "Do we need to wait for Sleeping Beauty or can we start negotiating now?"

_The move with the dress must be an automatic reflex. She knows perfectly well that those legs will get her nowhere with either James or the Boss. She's more tense that she lets on._

James stared at her, eyes burning with ferocity and fever, and spoke slowly. "I will conduct the negotiations. Lord Gloria has entrusted me with full powers on this matter."

"Oh, I see. No nonsense."

"No. This jewellery has seen enough nonsense and vulgarity for a lifetime."

"Agreed." Ms Uhng looked at Bonham with a dimpled smile.

He stood up. _And here's my dismissal. Not a moment too soon. I don't really want to be in the way of these two sharks 'negotiating'. But I'll pop in later with refreshments. This is too soon for James, even if the loot is too hot to hold on to more than strictly necessary. No matter how hard he's trying to hide it, he's been hurt very seriously indeed. He should still be in hospital._

Bonham closed the door behind him; as he turned he found himself face to face with Dorian, and had to clamp down hard so as not to appear startled. _How the hell could he get the drop on me like that!_

Dorian's face was grim. "How is he? Is she going to cause him any problems?"

"He can outmanouvre the devil himself when it comes to extracting a bargain."

"That's not what I asked."

Bonham shrugged. "He'll be all right. He's holding up, and she doesn't know how badly he's hurt."

"Everybody knows! They're talking about nothing else. And look at his face!"

"Has he ever let his issues affect his work? Why should it be different now?"

Dorian closed his eyes. "It's all my fault. I had to have those diamonds—but now I can't wait to get rid of it. It is cursed."

_Of course, the world revolves around you—which mostly it does, actually. You can hurt him, but God forbid anyone else should. Ah, no, Bonham. This is uncalled for. Look at how the Boss is feeling now, much as he is capable of feeling anything for anyone but himself._

_* * *_

Davies sat alone at the conference room table, waiting for the rest of the team to arrive, fuming over being left out of the negotiations over the jewellery. When he'd handed James his appraisal and then moved in towards the morning room, the fucking little queer had glared at him, thanked him for his contribution and slammed the door in his face.

Taylor walked in and sat next to Davies. "This is taking longer than I thought. The Shrimp must be driving a hard bargain. Even after what happened to him."

"Serves him right. He almost had you all caught."

"Come on Davies, that's not fair. He stayed behind to make sure we were safe; said he had a hunch. And he was right—those security guards weren't supposed to be there. They beat him half to death."

"And you had to come back to rescue him, and it was a close call. I've never seen anyone bring their accountant along on an op. I'm working for a queer lot. No offense meant to the Boss."

Taylor looked nervously at the door. "If the Boss hears you, he'll break your neck. He's furious at himself, for agreeing to take the Shrimp along. Even if the Shrimp nagged him and Bonham to death about it, because he didn't like the diamonds' reputation. None of us did, except for the Boss."

"Well, the insect was right. He's quite sharp, for someone who takes it up the arse—" 

Taylor started to gesticulate urgently at Davies—only to be stopped by Bonham's hand, raised amiably between the two men. Bonham smiled mildly, and pushed the tip of a gun just over Davies's jugular. "I'm not sure I heard what you said, Davies. Care to repeat it?"

"It was just banter! I didn't mean it—"

"Good. And you should make sure you never mean it again. Ever. Otherwise I might leave it to the Boss to deal with you. Would cheer him up to no end." Bonham stood back, put his gun away and sat down with a smile.

_* * *_

Dorian closed the door after entrusting the doctor to Gordon to see him out, then walked back towards the bed. "The doctor says you're all mended."

James glanced up from where he was sitting on the bed, buttoning up his shirt. "I could've told you that two weeks ago. For free."

Dorian sat down next to James, and stilled his hands on the buttons. "You gave me a fright. When I saw you on the ground, I thought—" _I don't want to think about what I thought._

James looked into Dorian's eyes, but said nothing. Dorian lowered his head and started undoing the buttons in James's shirt. He pushed it aside and briefly rubbed the tips of his fingers over James's small, pebbled nipples. James shivered, and kept his silence. Dorian moved on to James's still-unbuckled belt, and unfastened it completely.

"—Your face was covered in blood."

Dorian pushed an unresisting James backwards on the bed, and finished undressing him. He was intent, focused on the task at hand. James looked at him throughout, breathing shallowly, still unspeaking.

"Your hair was soaked in mud, and I thought how much you'd hate it, how—"

Dorian went silent, and smoothed James's hair away from his face; then he stood up and started removing his own clothes. Naked, he lay next to James on the bed, pulling them close and staring at James's darkened eyes. "I want to fuck you. Let me fuck you."

James nodded and rolled on his side, facing away, and Dorian spooned closely against his back. James pulled up his right leg, so that Dorian's cock could slide between James's thighs. Dorian's right hand caressed James's hip, moving up and down slowly, listening as James's breath became audible, hips rocking minutely. _It always feels so solemn this way._

Dorian's hand went to his cock, rubbing it against James, who reached for the lube bottle under the pillow, and passed it back to Dorian as he started working at them. _The more I fuck him, the tighter he becomes. I'll never understand it._

James stayed as still as possible while Dorian struggled to push into him. _It's not—even this lubed up, he's still too tight—I'm not sure I'll be able to—wouldn't be the first time I'll just have to rub myself off on him—AH! YES!_ Dorian made a choked sound as the tip of his cock pushed inside James. The squeeze was almost unbearable. James shivered and whispered something inaudible.

Dorian stopped and looked up. "Are you all right? Am I hurting you?" _I don't want to hurt you. Don't let me hurt you._

James shook his head slowly but still didn't move much, except for turning his face towards his right shoulder. In profile, Dorian could see his eyelids flutter, eyes almost closed, breathing through his slightly open mouth. _I shouldn't want it so much when he's like this, all drowsy and still._

Dorian's hand went to James's still soft cock, but James batted him off, whispering: "No, I'm good."

Slowly, Dorian started to push in. James's right hand reached behind them to the back of Dorian's thighs, pulling him in, exhaling at each push, his head rolling back to rest against Dorian's shoulder. It took a long time, but eventually Dorian was all the way in, or almost, shaking with the effort to keep control. His hand went back to the crease of James's thigh, caressing it soothingly. James was still silent, but his hand slid over Dorian's, just resting over it, letting himself be handled. Time stretched on, the silence only broken by their breathing, panting softly in time with each other.

_I could stay like this forever. I want to stay like this forever. I can't stay like this one more instant._

Eventually, Dorian had to move: he carefully pushed them to lie flat face down until he was fully stretched over James, and started fucking him slowly, forehead resting against the back of James's neck, eyes squeezed closed. _Still so tight. It almost feels like fucking dry._ He whispered: "Good?"

James nodded. Dorian lifted his head and looked at James's face, turned sideways just enough to show a look of utter peace. He was breathing slowly, his whole body pliant and warm. Blissful. Dorian reached under James's body. His cock was still soft. Dorian slowed down, almost breathless. "Jamesie?"

James shook his head, husked: "I'm good." Dorian closed his eyes again and rested his face against James's right shoulder, picking up his rhythm, losing himself in pleasure. _He's going to come soft. He can do that sometimes. I could die like this. We could die like this._ Eventually, it unspooled to the end: James exhaled silently, calmly peaked and went completely slack. Dorian shuddered and came for so long it felt like dying.

When he could move again, Dorian turned them sideways. James's head lolled back, his eyes closed, breathing softly through his mouth. _He looks like Rossetti's_ Beata Beatrix _._

*

James lay basking in the heat from Dorian's body spooned against his back, one arm wrapped around his waist, fast asleep. James's hand rested on top of Dorian's, their fingers loosely interlaced. He blinked slowly, looking at nothing in particular, intent on Dorian's huffing breaths against his neck, spellbound by the rare feeling of peace and quiet in his head. The way Dorian had made him come had left him utterly calm and serene. He was wrapped in blessed silence within and without. _When he takes me like that, I feel like I'm Briar Rose; asleep yet not asleep_. _I never felt anything like this in my life. I adore him._


	4. Jones

Dorian crossed his legs and slouched in his chair, handing the list back to Bonham. "Fine, as usual. You got it past James?"

Bonham nodded. "Barely, but yes. Most of the resources we need. Equipment, people, contacts…"

"People. Yes. About Davies. I don't like what I'm hearing."

"He's an obnoxious bigot. But I had words with him. He'll keep his views to himself."

Dorian looked at Bonham's face. "Can we replace him?"

"Not easily or quickly."

"Put some feelers out. When you find someone else, Davies goes."

Bonham nodded.

"Now. We still need someone in charge of security. A specialist."

"Yes. After the last heist—"

Dorian's eyes went unfocused, lips pressed together tightly. Bonham waited for the moment to pass, then said: "I have someone in mind, but he's very expensive. I can deal with James, but maybe it would help if you—"

Dorian closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded. "I'll talk him through."

* * *

The man who walked into the room looked almost exactly as Bonham remembered him: tall, pale, and sharp-eyed. He was in his early thirties, but his dark wavy hair was already showing silver strands. He extended an elegant arm and they shook hands. _Such strong hands, and yet such a delicate, precise grip. Used to pulling a trigger._

"Bonham."

"Jones. Good to see you. It's been a while."

"Almost six years. But I assume you're not here to reminisce?"

Bonham smiled. Jones had not mellowed with time. _I like it that he always gets directly to the point. No drama. Refreshing._ "Well, no. I might have a job for you, full time, for this business I'm in. You may have heard of it."

Jones nodded curtly. "You're earning quite a reputation."

"You got quite a reputation, too. That's why I called you."

A shrug. "What's in it for me?"

_Flattery doesn't always get you everywhere._ "Double your usual, plus a cut of the profits. Very high standards of living, international jet-setting, the lot. We do things in style. And it's always interesting. Unusual."

Jones scoffed. "Uhm. They all say that. Anything else I should know?"

"The Boss is gay—"

Jones leaned forward. "So what? Is this some misguided appeal to shared proclivities? Because I'm finding it quite insulting."

Bonham drew back slightly, deliberately slow. "That's not what I meant—"

Jones slouched on his chair, unsmiling. "Good. And for the record, I never mix business and pleasure."

"But the Boss does. Which is why I'm mentioning it. _And now for the bad news._ He's doing the accountant. Who is a liability."

"Your money man is a liability? Are you insane?"

_Ouch._ "We're not. You see—" Bonham drew a breath, hesitated, then shrugged. "Doesn't matter. It doesn't affect his work at all—he's the best I've ever seen, by far—except he's difficult to work with."

"But you can't get rid of him because the Boss is fucking him."

"That, and he knows too much."

"And how is that a problem if you get rid of him altogether? Take him out permanently and get someone easier to deal with."

"We wouldn't get away with it. The Boss is squeamish about drastic measures."

Jones arched his eyebrow. "You're hiring me to work with a bleeding heart?"

"He's not that much of a bleeding heart, don't worry. It's just this one soft spot. Which is exactly why I need to hire you. Balance."

"I don't want sentiment to interfere with my job. Either I do things my way, or I don’t do them at all."

Bonham shrugged. "You'll be working directly with me. And what the Boss doesn't know can't hurt him." _Except there's very little he doesn't know. I'll have to do some balancing all right. But Jones is worth his weight in gold. We need the best. Won't have a repeat of the fiasco with that damned necklace. "_ Give it a thought and come back to me when you've decided."

"Right. I'll let you know. I have things to consider."

Bonham smiled and got up. _Hook, line and sinker._ He shook his suede jacket on. "Meet me again next Thursday. I'll let you know where in the usual way. Bring your wish list."

* * *

Jones removed his ear protectors grimly, and turned towards an equally grim Dorian. He thumbed his gun's safety on, and shook his head.

"Well, Milord. Let me put this bluntly: you're no good with guns. You can work yourself up to adequate, but I suggest you always have someone good near you. You'll need it."

Dorian set his gun on the bench, said "No I won't" and turned languidly. Before Jones could realise what was happening, Dorian had him in a headlock, a thin, sharp knife at his throat.

Jones hummed approvingly. "I take it back. Well done. Wherever you learned that, it works." Dorian's mouth approximated a smile. _After Lord Price, I had to make sure I could hold my own up close and personal._ Jones suddenly went limp, swotted the knife away and threw Dorian off him, only to be thrown against the bench in turn.

They started to fight in earnest, brutally efficient. After a while, Dorian ended up sprawled on his front, Jones twisting his right arm and digging his knee in his lower back. _Knows his job, and no nonsense. He's not letting me win, even if I am his employer; but he's not rubbing it in either. The strong silent type. I didn't know that I liked it, but I think I do. I may be getting tired of shrinking violets and walking on eggs. God knows I've had my fill of that._

"I think it's enough for today, Milord." Jones stood and extended a hand to pull Dorian up. His voice was cold. "I suggest we set aside some time every day to work on your firearms skills. Blades are no good at long range."

Dorian straightened his clothes and brushed himself off. "Agreed."

Jones nodded, picked up their guns and left. Dorian followed his retreating back with his eyes _. I might even have won if I didn't have such a hard-on. I'm sure he noticed; wonder whether he liked it as much as I did. Probably not. I don't think he's on the market. Must come with the job. It helps keeping people at a distance in case you have to shoot them later. Anyway, much as I'd like to try something different, he's off limits. I think I’ve more than learned my lesson: don't sleep with the help._

The door to the shooting range opened, letting James in. _Talking about which. God help me._

"I saw you. I know what you're up to." James's eyes were burning with jealousy, pain, and anger.

Dorian sighed inwardly, and resorted to loftiness. "And what would that be, pray? We were sparring. I am not in the habit of killing my team members."

"No, you just fuck them."

"Only a chosen few. Would you like me to show you?" _Keep him sweet. And take care of this hard-on._

* * *

In retrospect, they should have repaired to a more discreet place, but the moment had snuck up on them, and now James was sitting on the floor between Dorian's legs, licking and suckling him slowly, one hand resting over Dorian's thigh, the other one pulling his own cock, making small mewling noises through the bulk in his mouth.

Dorian looked at James's dark head with lazy eyes, comfortably gliding on the plateau before things became urgent, enjoying the slow, unhurried feeling. As James came, Dorian closed his eyes and sighed, leaning his head against the low-backed sofa in the armoury, throat bared and neck stretching backwards luxuriously, settling in for the long delicious haul, one hand loosely carding through James's already messy hair as he kept eating him. _It's always best after he's finished; no distractions, the type of focus and gratitude that makes for great sex, but none of the embarrassing sentimentality afterwards._

Dorian wasn't sure what'd made him open his eyes—maybe some barely perceptible noise. Abruptly, he was jolted out of his bliss, and found himself locking gazes with Jones's cold, indifferent eyes. Almost without pausing, Jones set down Dorian's new custom-made shoulder holster on the counter, gave Dorian an assessing, calculating look, and retreated from the room, even as Dorian roughly grabbed James's hair with both hands, shoved himself full-length down his throat, and came suddenly and violently, spine arching and eyes fixed on the now-empty doorframe.

In a few moments, Dorian's presence of mind returned enough to let go of James's hair, as the man was frantically and ineffectually fighting for breath, clawing and scrambling at Dorian's thighs. Dorian sat up and pulled James up by his shoulders, holding up his trembling, startled frame. "James! I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me, I got carried away—are you alright?"

James looked up with dazed eyes, come and spit drooling out of his mouth, and nodded vaguely, tears streaming down his reddened, blotched face. _The right kind of tears,_ supplied Dorian's treacherous mind before he repeated "Darling, I'm so sorry." _Why am I apologising, I've given him much worse, and more than once. But then I meant to; this was scary. I completely lost control—and why do I sound so hoarse, must have been screaming, I can't even remember, my God._

James scrambled onto his lap, and Dorian held him as James leaned against him and rested his head on Dorian's shoulders, husking "I—don't—mind" in little more than a raspy whisper. Dorian exhaled, and James closed his eyes and subsided, fine tremors melting into abandon. Dorian looked down at him. _He looks so trusting, so composed when I've been rough with him._ Then he looked up again at the shoulder holster on the counter, polished leather gleaming in the afternoon light. _I wonder if the strap will chafe my nipples._

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic can be read as taking place in the same universe as my story [How To Be Rich.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22267837)


End file.
